


Sanctuary

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, One Night Stands, Trains, Veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. On his way home from Iraq, Dean meets a stranger on a train.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

A soldier's journey home is always a long one. But for Dean, the interminable plane ride back from the Middle East wasn't nearly the worst of it. Nor was the train he boarded now, though that would take him more than twenty hours of travel. His road home was longer still than the hours he was spending in transit.

If it had been merely the time that wearied him, he could have easily changed planes in New York and flown straight home to Chicago. But Dean needed to see the country, needed to remember the wild and wide-open places he had been fighting for. Leaving Iraq had been all pomp and circumstance, nearly surreal in its ceremony. He hadn't felt the impact until the plane's wheels had left the ground and he suddenly realized Sam would never set foot in their home country again.

He'd been dead for a year now, and Dean had followed his brother's last request to the letter. _Get through this war,_ Sam had made him promise. _Get out alive. Go home to Lisa and Ben. Go be a civilian again._ And Dean was doing just that, but he couldn't help the hollow feeling in his chest as he slid his suitcase into the bin beneath his seat, couldn't help the recurring thought that he was going back to a home he wouldn't recognize anymore.

This was a nice train, with sleeping compartments to fit four people at a go. He was alone in this one, and as the cars lurched into motion and began to clack-clack-clack their way out of Union Station, Dean pulled out the picture of Lisa in his wallet. She was beautiful, but so was a painting, so was a sunrise. And Ben would have changed completely since Dean had last seen him. Three years was enough to change a boy of that age forever. He might be taller than Dean by now.

That'd surely be proof of the matching DNA, though Lisa would still deny Ben belonged to Dean. Sam had been a shrimp until age fourteen, when he suddenly shot up like the proverbial beanstalk and left Dean in his shadow. The Sasquatch gene had to be in Dean somewhere, even if it hadn't manifested. If Ben was tall, that'd be the proof in the pudding.

But he didn't know. Lisa's letters had thinned out, and Dean had hardly been the best boyfriend. There was too much going on on the ground for him to remember. And after Sam died, well, if Dean allowed himself an inch to feel anything but the fight, he would have been a goner. He squeezed everything out of his heart so that he could keep himself alive. Anything for Sammy's last wish to come true. Anything.

"Pardon me." A voice almost more metallic and harsh than the sound the compartment door made as it slid open. "Is there a seat available in this--"

"Yeah, yeah. Come on in." Dean was glad to be snapped out of his reverie. Room to think had never been his friend. "Can I help get your bags?"

"I've got it." A hard, square face embossed by a line of stubble. Long fingers stretched around the handle of a squat, bulging suitcase. The man lifted it with seemingly no exertion at all into the berth above his head, then turned back to stretch out his hand in greeting. He squinted at the sight of Dean's Army fatigues. "It's an honor. Thank you for your service."

Dean gave him a good-natured smile and clasped his hand. The long fingers were inhumanly warm and soft. "Thanks for saying so. Pleasure to meet you." He wasn't always the most polite guy, but he could be plenty affable when he wanted to be, and he really did appreciate the thank-you. God knew there wasn't wine, women, fast cars or fame at the end of the road he'd chosen. So a sincere moment of gratitude was the finest reward he could get.

"You're just coming home?" the man asked. "You look as though you've been traveling for days."

"That obvious?" A short laugh puffed its way from between Dean's lips. "Yeah, I'm homeward bound after three years in the Big Sandy."

"Where is home?"

Usually, the answer came easily. But there was a cadence in the man's low tone that made Dean want to give more than a one-word reply. He felt as though this stranger were really asking the question Dean had been asking himself. "Chicago," he managed, and then, as an afterthought: "I think."

"You think?" The man's eyebrows were dark, and for an instant, when he drew them together, Dean thought his eyes flashed blue fire. But then eyelashes batted. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't--"

"No, it's OK," Dean said quickly. "I don't want to bore you with it. The usual post-traumatic identity crisis, is all."

"I'm interested." The words came too readily.

"What are you, looking to write a prime-time drama?"

Dean's tone was too sharp, too pointed, and the man pinked. "Nothing like that. I'm sorry. I won't pry."

"Dude, stop apologizing." Dean leaned forward. "This is the first conversation with a stranger I've had in a long time. I'm sorry if I'm coming off like a dick. My name's Dean, by the way." They'd already shaken, but Dean reached out again.

The fingers slid into his just as readily, and an odd thump sounded against Dean's ribs. "I'm Castiel." Their hands lingered, joined, for another minute. Dean stared at his eyes and felt as though he were trying to breathe underwater. It took muscle control to pull away.

Breath was harder to find, too. "So anyway. Castiel." He thought about commenting that the name was awesome, but that would take more breath than he had. "Where are you headed?"

"I don't know," Castiel said. He glanced out of the window, blinking rapidly.

"You don't know? Where'd you buy the ticket to?"

"California." If Castiel saw Dean's incredulous expression, he ignored it. "I won't go the whole way, I don't think. I'll choose a station in the middle of nowhere and get off there. A place where nobody knows me."

"Dude." Dean blew a puff of air through pursed lips. "Your story sounds a lot better than mine."

"I've gotten into some trouble," Castiel said, and his eyes fixed on Dean again. "Discovered some corruption at the top. They've ruined my reputation, and I'm running away. I suppose it's pretty dramatic."

Dean's jaw was on the floor, getting rattled by every click of the tracks. "That's one word for it," he said, disbelief lightening his voice into a breathy rasp. "So what, you're just going to start a brand-new life? Forge a new ID, fake a Social Security account and become Jimmy No-One from Nowheresville?"

Castiel's laugh was a barely-there thing, a few millimeters of curved-up lips and a falling of breath through the break between them. But Dean could hear and see it for seconds after it had ended. "I wouldn't know how. I suppose I'll be improvising. I have money in accounts nobody knows about, I can afford to live. Just so long as I'm not found."

For a thrilling instant Dean wondered why he couldn't do the same thing. Why not drop everything, run away, go to a new town and start all over again? But that wasn't the way he'd been raised. He didn't leave family. He had to take care of them. He'd made a promise.

"What is it?"

Dean started. "What is what?"

An intense, concerned look. "You're crying."

Dean raised his fingers to his eyes. "I'm not crying," he retorted. "My eyes are just irritated. From being on a plane so long." He wiped the definitely-not-tears away.

"Dean." There was something so deliberate and concerned about the way his name rolled off Castiel's tongue. Dean took in a short breath and forgot to let it out. "Tell me your story."

It all tumbled out then, the loss and the doubt, his promise to Sam, the fear that he'd go home to two strangers. The fear that everything that had been Dean Winchester had been stripped bare by sweat and desert sands, and that there was nothing left to him but a uniform wrapped around a shell. Every so often Dean would stop and wipe away something else that definitely wasn't a tear. And somewhere between the third and seventh time his voice cracked, Castiel had taken his hand.

Dean didn't let it go when he was done talking. He squeezed it tighter, looked into Castiel's eyes, and waited for a verdict, or advice, or something.

"I don't know what to say," Castiel said finally. "It must be awful, not feeling like you have a home."

"You don't have one, either," Dean pointed out.

"True. But I have my integrity, and that helps." Castiel blinked, and Dean's gaze fell to his lips. They were almost an unearthly shade of pink. "Sometimes, all you need is something to hold on to."

His hand squeezed Dean's. Slowly. Just once. He licked his lips with a nervous tongue. The train rattled its way across a rickety bridge as night fell.

Dean leaned forward. Castiel didn't shy away, and Dean realized Castiel's eyes were on _his_ mouth. Both of them, eyes lowered, focusing on a gap that was slowly closing.

The first kiss was tentative and tender. A brush of mouths together, soft on chapped, barely anything but a test. A moment of separation, then their eyes were meeting, asking questions, seeking reassurance. Dean's free hand found Castiel's. He pulled the other man across the small divide between them, an armful of tan trenchcoat and loose tie falling into him, and their mouths met again in an exploration that was at once searching and searing, soft but hot and intense. Castiel's tongue licked across the flat of Dean's, and it drew a moan from both of them.

Castiel wavered. "Is this all right?" he asked, mouth still half pressed against Dean's. "I don't usually--"

"Me neither." Dean ran his hands up Castiel's arms, cupping his face. "It's OK." He felt Castiel nod into his palms and gave a soft sigh, his lips curving into a smile. That was all the permission either of them needed.

Dean rose up, slid his arms around Castiel's shoulders, and pressed him against the window. The pane pressed cold into his hip, but Castiel's body was a hot cushion against the rest of them. And Castiel's hands, those long noble fingers, were wandering, drawing soft patterns against him, easing beneath the cuffs and collar of his uniform. Dean felt as though he hadn't been touched in years. He sighed and pushed his body further into Castiel's, feeling the other man's erection slide against his stomach, groaning as the heat built inside his own pants. He gave a quick sidelong glance at the empty sleeping berth, looked at Castiel, and got another quick nod. Desperation simmered in Castiel's wide eyes.

They found their way down aided by a sudden bump in the train's movement. Dean laughed aloud as Castiel's elbow nearly avoided jabbing him in the face, and Castiel's smile over him in return was a sweet, sweet thing. They kissed, pulling and peeling clothes back inch by inch, enjoying every stolen moment and each encouraging vibration beneath them of iron wheels and steel track.

Dean's hand circled Castiel's cock and drew it out from his unzipped pants; Castiel hissed and arched forward. "Shh," Dean whispered, pulling himself back. He lowered Castiel's hand onto the bulge in his fatigues; Castiel looked almost shocked before moaning and bucking into Dean's hand all the harder. He pulled himself together enough to yank Dean's pants down around his knees, then take hold of his cock.

Arms crossed over each other, stroking each other in a regular rhythm, they began to move in tandem with the rolling rhythm of the train. A surge forward, a hitch back. The heads of their cocks touching briefly, with a feeling like lightning striking. Tongues lapping together. Moans never rising above the train's steady rumble. It was soft, shuddering love they were making, moving as sinuously and silently over the plains as a train passing by in the night.

They came together, Castiel whimpering, Dean's brow furrowed in concentration as he hissed out a _yess._ Afterward, they held each other loosely, foreheads barely touching, not saying a word. Without speaking, they knew each other completely. And no one would ever know what had passed between them in this place. This was their sanctuary.

The train pulled into a stop in the back woods of Kentucky just after Castiel had put his clothes back on. He looked out the window and saw trees and a general store. "This is it," he said. "I should go."

Dean nodded. He reached up and pulled down the black monstrosity of a suitcase before Castiel could say a word, but when Castiel reached out, Dean handed the weight to him. Castiel nodded his thanks. They stared at each other in silence a moment.

"Good luck in Nowheresville, Jimmy No-One," Dean said to him.

Castiel smiled briefly. "Good luck to you too."

"I know how to fake an ID, you know." Dean felt like a fool the moment the words had faded.

Castiel leaned forward and kissed him. "Go keep your promise," he said.

Dean reached past him to hold open the compartment door. Those definitely weren't tears he saw in Castiel's eyes just before he turned away.

* * *

"You can buy 30-second spots every 15 minutes for that price, or for another hundred we can actually throw in a live read by the anchor. That's not the same as a sponsorship spot, but--"

The doorbell rang. Castiel looked up to see a figure he couldn't quite recognize, casting a shadow across the stained glass of his front window. "Excuse me, Ron, I'm going to have to call you back." He hung up hastily and padded across the carpet of the front hall to throw open the door.

"Jimmy Novak," Dean said with a smile. "It's a good alias. I knew who it was the minute I heard the name."

Castiel's hands flew to his mouth.

Dean opened the screen door and tilted his head. "Can I come in? Is this a bad time? I know it's out of nowhere, but..."

"Come in. God, please come in." A tight whisper was all Castiel could manage. He watched, unable to move, as Dean's shoulders filled his doorway, as his frame entered this new sacred space Castiel had created for himself. Sharp pale eyes looking around, nodding in approval at the trappings of a brand-new life.

"How are you?" Castiel managed. "How's your family?"

Dean shook his head. A sad smile flickered across his face. "Didn't work out," he said. "I wish it had. I know Sam wanted it to, but... I think it's time I went after what I want."

"What you want?" Castiel didn't dare hope. "Good... good for you."

"What about you, man?" Dean was scrutinizing each piece of art on the walls. "Have a whole new life? Met new friends?"

Castiel nodded. "It's working out well. People here are nice. Unassuming." He paused. "I have a job, I have friends. "

"Anyone special?"

The question was inevitable. Castiel braced himself. His fist clenched. But he'd made up his mind how to answer that question the minute he'd seen Dean's face.

"Only one," he said. "I never expected to see him again. "

Dean turned. His cheeks were pink. "Cas, I know we didn't have a lot of time. But I--"

" _Cas?_ "

Dean faltered. "Nobody ever called you that? Seriously, you went around for the first half of your life being called Castiel?"

Castiel laughed and walked up to Dean, putting a hand on his arm. His eyes were aglow. "Nobody ever made it sound good."

"Well." Dean's voice went husky. "I think it's going to take me a while to learn to call you Jimmy."

Hands cinched tight around Castiel's waist. His head tipped forward. "Cas is fine. When you fake my ID, you can make it my middle name."

He could see Dean struggling for a rejoinder. So Castiel leaned in and put his mind at ease and his mouth to better use. When he pulled back again, Dean was so thoroughly flushed and flummoxed that he momentarily forgot how to speak at all.

"So," Castiel said, drawing a fingertip along Dean's lips. "You said you were going after what you want."

"I was," said Dean hoarsely. "I am."

"And what do you want, Dean?" The name whispered with as much care and intensity as before.

Dean's hand tightened around his waist. "A home, I think."

Castiel sighed. "I don't know if I can give you that. I don't even know you, Dean." The feeling of Dean tensing up against him nearly broke his heart. "But I can give you a place to stay, for a while. And maybe--"

"I'll take 'maybe,'" Dean said quickly.

Because maybe could become yes. And a place to stay -- a temporary sanctuary -- could become a home in time.  



End file.
